Creative Writing: Haiku 26

Just something fun and silly today

Music of my soul,
Light of my life, you are my
Love, David Bowie

Creative Writing: Tanka 5

Prompt: Toy with spiritual love imagery

But the Greatest of 
These is Love, and my ardour
For you is boundless,
Without restriction, reason
Be damned for my foolishness

Creative Writing: Haiku 25

Some of my favourite people to commune with

To commune with friends 
Is the essence of a life
Enriched and joyful

Current Contemplations: Journal Drabble

cute!Ford Pines to hopefully brighten my day

Today was a really rough day.  I started moving to the new apartment which is definitely not as nice as where I've been living for the past six months.  However, the new place saves me around $100/mo in rent and it's closer to public transportation, so I think it is worth it.  The main problem, however, is that I had an anxiety attack when I was moving in and an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia also overtook me.

This probably happened for a variety of reasons, but for now, I, unfortunately, don't have a lot of time to process or deal with it, as I have two job interviews, two phone calls, and a chiropractor appointment all on Monday.  Not to mention that I will finally finish moving out on Tuesday, as today and tomorrow it's raining and I need to focus on my interview instead of unpacking.

The problem is that the lack of completion in unpacking and settling in will still be weighing on my mind on Monday.  Not to mention that I have a huge project of re-organizing, de-cluttering, and deep cleaning the entire apartment which will most likely take me all of this upcoming week.  However, for the peace of mind it will bring, I hope it will be worth it.

I've also been dealing with an insane amount of homesickness for the past four months, which wasn't helped by going home in December (in the midst of feeling blue) versus riding out the wave and the culture shock.  I also hope that when the weather begins to turn for the better in spring that I'll be able to go out and explore the City some more like I was able to in September.

In the meantime, I am trying to focus on taking things one day at a time (again), and rewarding myself with the David Bowie Is exhibit on Friday, which I will eagerly be waiting outside the museum at seven in the morning.  And longer term, I am looking forward to seeing Todd and Annaliese in May - I've already planned out a whole itinerary for us to enjoy.

Creative Writing: Tanka 3

"Queen Bitch" was in my head for this prompt.  Also "Winter Winds" by Mumford & Sons

prompt: betrayal/heartache

an ache in my head
and nausea in my heart
at the turn of phrase
where you tell me you love me
but never in love with me


*re-arranged "Queen Bitch" lyrics:

my stomach feels small
and there's a taste in my mouth
it's no taste at all
and it could've been me why
yes it could've been me no

Creative Writing: Tanka 2

"Time" was playing on repeat in my mind when I wrote this

prompt: yearning/as many cliches as possible

in the place between
my heart and my soul you live,
immune from time's grasp,
your image and my lost hopes,
languishing in the darkness

Creative Writing: Tanka

A Tanka is a type of Japanese poetry from the seventh century, similar to Haikus.  They usually express a mood, thought, or feeling, typically about nature or love.  Originally it was a thirty-one syllable poem written in a single unbroken line.  However, a variation on this form is a type of tanka that contains five lines following a 5-7-5-7-7 pattern.  Although this variation still has the standard thirty-one syllables.

The bitter chill bites
at my face, devours my soul,
in its gaping maw,
while the snow obscures my sight.
I do not know the light's warmth.

Creative Writing: Haiku 24

Union Square Today (2/20/18)

Feeling vaguely sad
Uncomfortably bitter
Or perhaps morose

Creative Writing: Five Years, Chapter 6

"Sweet Head" // "Velvet Goldmine" 

Chapter 6: "Year 4: Til There Was Rock, You Only Had God"

His rise to stardom, James, now Ziggy, reflected, felt like an insurmountable mountain.  Impossible and improbable to even conceive of until one day he had done it.  He had made it.  It was as if the climb had leveled out somewhere and instead of an uphill battle, it was like being strapped on a rocket to Mars.  And now he was on top of the world.  Everything and anything you could think of was at his disposal.  He was put up only in the poshest hotels, played the swankiest gigs all over the country, could have his pick of any bird he wanted, and had thousands of adoring fans all dedicated to following him and his message to the ends of the earth.

Of course, it was largely in part to his fortuitous meeting with the Spiders, the name of Ronno, Weird, and Gilly's gang.  Together they didn't just make sound - they ascended.  They touched divinity.  They were the embodiment of sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll.  The Spiders had made sure of it, as they introduced James to more cocaine and girls than he could remember.  They were glamourous and dangerous and although James was bewildered and amazed at it all, Ziggy was not.

Ziggy would be not only the greatest rock star, but be the living embodiment of a rock god.  He was just about the best anyone could hear.  Brother Ziggy was tough as glass and clean as night.  He could be a rubber peacock, an angelic whore, a wrought iron face upon the wall.  He had a bedroom, every mirror in town, with the type of head he got these days.  He was the kind of man that his mother had warned him of, filled with a type of violent insanity, an instability that was close to genius, close to God, and nothing could stop him from saving the world with his message.

Taking on that alter-ego was the best decision he had ever made.  As soon as he declared that he was going to be their front man, James knew he had to impress them.  So he did.  He had grabbed Ronno's kit and started belting out the craziest, most far out jams he could lay down.  He knew all of his works by memory, had nothing but music playing in his head for two years, and he knew that the Spiders would understand what he was trying to say when no one else would.

It turned out that his inner compass hadn't steered him wrong.  Ronno was impressed (and the numerous rounds consumed on James' account hadn't hurt either).  He was even more impressed when the next day James showed up with his hair shorn, died bright red, with shaved off eyebrows, and a face full of make-up in a fantastic Japanese-inspired costume.  He had a vision, (and some balls), and Ronno couldn't deny that he looked out of this world.  They had their first gig that night.

Of course, that hadn't stopped James from butting heads against the Spiders when he declared that for the plan to work they also had to wear make-up and put on zany outfits and women's heels.  He had also insisted that the Spiders change their name to the Spiders From Mars in order to emphasize their extra-terrestrial message.  Not to mention that he had only given them four hours to rehearse before performing together.  But after the first night, when the Spiders had gotten even more girls than they ever had before, there were no more complaints with how James - Ziggy - ran the show.

And their first gig was an unparalleled success.  It was the first night James had fully taken on his alter-ego persona and it felt like he was Living again.  For the first time since long before the end of the world had been declared, James was doing more than just surviving and existing.  It was exhilarating and exalting.  It was like ecstasy at a free festival, like touching the very soul of holding each and every life.  The music was never more rockin, the crowd never more crazed, the fervour never more frenzied.  It was what James had been waiting for, but he knew he would never partake in it. He had to die for it to go on.  Now, there could only be Ziggy.

"Traumatics thick and fast, your faith in me can last; Besides I'm known to lay you, one and all"

--

She knew that she would be left in the wings of a dirty old hole-in-the-wall pub, but that didn't stop her heart from breaking.  He sent her photographs of himself every now and then, but they were impersonal, all shots of his performing on stage, and merely inscribed "For My Honey" with a signature at the bottom.

He simply didn't have time for little Myrna-Jean anymore, although he never officially told her that or even technically broke up with her.  Rather, one day his things were simply gone from Haddon Hall.  Their last night together had been like any other, a passionate burst like a solar flare that seemed to last an eternity until it didn't.  He offered no explanation, no excuse, and Myrna-Jean expected none.  She would've thought less of him if he had.  They had known from the beginning theirs was a relationship of convenience.  It was unfortunate that her heart had to get tangled up in the whole affair.

He was performing nationwide, and she was still stuck in little old Beckenham.  Tony, Rudi, Bevan, and Sonny had all left long ago, disillusioned by James' inconsistency and descent into insanity.  But Myrna-Jean had known for a long time that James was like the Stardust he so loved.  A bright, burning flame, disorienting and spectacular, but gone in an instant leaving nothing but dust behind him and in his soul.  That was simply his nature.  It still hurt though.  And now he was going by this ridiculous name - "Ziggy" - and knocking about with some extremely questionable people.  If the James she met years ago was still in there, he was long since buried and left to rot.

She still believed in him, in his original message, deep down, and thought it must be love that she felt for him (or maybe that was just the side-effects of the cocaine).  But that wouldn't stop her from making sure James knew exactly how much he hurt her.

--

Despite the fact that the crowds were getting larger due to the increased adulation and adoration of Ziggy and his spiders, Valentine hadn't missed a single performance.  Finding a single space in the cramped venues was now nearly impossible as many of Ziggy's acolytes, as Valentine liked to call them since he believed they were more than mere "groupies", clamoured and fought to be as close to their chosen Messiah as possible.

But without fail, every single night, no matter where or when, Valentine would quietly arrive and establish himself in a nook or cranny that others always seemed to overlook.  He had been converted ever since seeing StarDust all those long months ago, and his devotion was unwavering, never failing.

He would watch with gleaming eyes from the shadows.  He never approached StarDust - Ziggy, it was later revealed to be his first name, and what a glorious, fitting title it was for the boy - as he preferred to greedily devour him, savour him, with his eyes.

He had mesmerizing hot red hair, high, sharp cheekbones that was accentuated with his makeup, and crazy legs that went on for miles that he showed off in his skintight jumpsuit, with glinting rings on his fingers.  And every night he pranced around on the stage, showing off his bulging attributes to his adoring followers, shaking his God-given ass, undulating his pelvis, regularly pantomiming sexual gratification to the wide-eyed crowd, drowning in the ecstasy of the rock 'n' roll divinity.

There was no doubt about it.  Ziggy was sex and salvation itself, personified in a deliciously, unearthly beautiful form.  Valentine could feel his groin stirring just at the memory of last night's show, when Ziggy had got on his knees before Ronno and puckered his sweet lips just - there - right on the lead guitar's body, so close to heaven.  He groaned at the thought of his most treasured fantasy.

He would be noticed, one night, in the shadows.  Ziggy's eyes would land upon him, piercing straight into his soul, in the middle of his song, right when he sang, "with my guitar and me soprano, we can give you sweet head", then he would leave the club, only to be cornered by Ziggy himself.  He would wordlessly be led by the hand to Ziggy's domain, swept up and spellbound, his knees shaking with cheeks aflame.  And Ziggy would simply clutch him close to his breast, holding him, caressing him, before showing him the leather belt round his hips.  Then, with his nebulous body swaying above, Valentine would be guided to kneel, an eager supplicant to his wonderful panther like princess.  Soon, his tongue would be swollen with devil's love, ravishing Ziggy, having him whole, before, like a king volcano, he would reach his ultimate crescendo.

Ah, to dream.  To be so chosen by Ziggy.  Truly, he was a goldmine.  But it was never to be.  Valentine knew this, as he restricted his interactions with Ziggy to the nights he performed.  It was a way to establish a comforting ritual that he hadn't had since when he had been a believer in God.  It was like communion every Sunday.  Only meant to be taken in church, the sublime feelings sequestered and constrained to the comforting, repetitive act.  Never to be partaken in outside of the strictest confines of time and space.  His nightly attendance was like showing up on a Sunday morning.   music the bread and wine for his soul.  His face the icon at whose feet he worshiped.

So for now, Valentine had to content himself with disguising the damp front of his trousers as he settled in for yet another night's show, eager to once again be graced with his object of adulation, adoration, and salvation.

Creative Writing: Haiku 23

Today was a thing.
Went out to church and the shop.
Praise God for weekends.

Creative Writing: Ford Pines Headcanons

Just something fun and light-hearted today.  Here's a list of some of my headcanons I have about Ford Pines (obviously, not spoiler-free), all taken from actual episodes, Journal 3, the fandom, Alex Hirsch, and the Internet in general:

• Born in 1947 (the same year as Bowie)
• Making the first flashback of "1960-something" assumed to be 1960 (if they're around 13 years old like Dipper and Mabel) ("Tale of Two Stans")
• The science fair occurring during 1965 (assuming they're 18 in their senior year) ("Tale of Two Stans")
• Ford's arrival in Gravity Falls is in 1975 (this would match Ford's undergrad-phd track "three years ahead of schedule" like he mentions, assuming 28 years old) (Journal 3)
• Ford contacts Bill in 1981 (this matches the "six years" he spent researching in Gravity Falls, makes Ford 34) (Journal 3)
• Ford falls into the portal in 1982 (assuming 35 years old, matches Stan's remark that he "hasn't seen his brother in over ten years") ((Journal 3, "Carpet Diem", "Tale of Two Stans")
• Stan has been working on the portal for "30 years" and is "pushing 70" in 2012 (matches timeline to assume he's 65, also the premiere year of the show) ("Not What He Seems")
• Ford has blue eyes ("The Last Mabelcorn")
• Ford stands with his hands behind his back all the time.  He says it's because it looks heroic. but it's actually a habit from being teased his entire life for his six fingers ("Tale of Two Stans")
• Even though Dipper and Stan would be the obvious candidates for being overprotective of Mabel, throughout the show they trust her to take care of herself when the chips are down.  Ford would be the one to be surprisingly overprotective and scare off all her dates with his "space outlaw" act and/or bad grunkle jokes
• His body is covered in tattoos, most of them embarrassing (canon from Journal 3 when he talks about getting a cartoon star with arms tattoo that says "Hey Now I'm An All Star!" while travelling across dimensions with a tribe of octopus-armed warrior piglets - "Let's just say I wear this turtleneck for a reason")
• He's also in excellent physical shape ("I've spent the last 30 years keeping up an extensive exercise and diet regimen", Journal 3)
• Because he's been an outlaw for 30 years, Ford also has lots of scars and burns, the most recent being from when Bill tortured him with shackles around his neck, which may also result in his problems with seizures in old age ("Weirdmageddon Part 3")
• In possession of many MANY trust issues.  He's crazy paranoid and psychologically damaged due to Stan's and Bill's betrayals, dimension hopping, lack of social skills, and enforced isolation for decades, but that Stan, Dipper, and Mabel eventually help him heal ("The Last Mabelcorn", "Weirdmageddon Part 3", Journal 3)
• Giant nerd, super into sci-fi, crazy smart in possession of 12 phds, loves Tesla and Carl Sagan ("Tale of Two Stans", "Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons", "Dipper and Mabel vs the Future", Journal 3)
• Loves jelly beans and has a sweet tooth (Journal 3)
• As a super dorky "dad" sense of humour, in possession of zero common sense, socializing skills, or understanding how current technology works (Journal 3)
• Learns to love Waddles for the sake of Mabel and for his help in regaining Stan's memories ("Weirdmageddon Part 3", Journal 3)
• Mabel and Ford bond over their love of sweaters.  She knits him a new one every month and sends them to him on the Stan O War II.  They both use "sweater town" as a coping mechanism during hard times ("Dipper and Mabel vs the Future")
• Dipper sends his journal entries to Ford to review and edit (Journal 3)
• Amazing actor, enjoys pretending to be a cool sci-fi space adventurer, but definitely tripped over his own long coat at least once while doing a spinny-backflip-move ("Tale of Two Stans", "Dipper and Mabel vs the Future") 
• Stan convinces Ford to help him con the people they meet sailing around the world ("Weirdmageddon Part 3", Journal 3)
• Ford loves to equally ruin Stan's punchlines and pickup lines wherever they sail
• Stan tries to "help" Ford with picking up the ladies because he knows Ford always messes up the line.  But he still cheers him up afterwards ("Tale of Two Stans")
• Ford has remarkable dexterity thanks to his extra fingers, and is great at tickling and playing piano (Twitter)
• His coat possesses space-altering qualities capable of storing anything of any size or shape (Tumblr)
• Ford learns about the "Stan is Wrong" song and sets it as his ringtone ("Boss Mabel", Tumblr)
• Ford likes to pretend to be serious and mysterious to cover-up the fact that he's a massive dork and easily embarrassed (Twitter)
• He's actually blind without his glasses - especially in his right eye.  He and Stan share the same prescription ("Weirdmageddon Part 3", Journal 3)
• Ford refuses to replace his glasses, despite Stan mocking him for keeping the same style for over thirty years (the same with his stubborn determination to keep his sideburns)
• Still enjoys poking/prodding at any strange anomaly he can find.  If he gets into trouble, Stan just laughs at him
• Still has a crazy rivalry with Stan, but now it's limited to dumb competitions like who's better at "old man things" and picking up the ladies
• Fiercely determined, a quick study, and in possession of laser focus - originally this was devoted to his studies, but after Weirdmageddon it's transferred entirely to his family and helping Stan regain his memories ("Tale of Two Stans", Journal 3)
• Huge fan of Talking Heads and pop culture in general ("The Stanchurian Candidate", Journal 3)
• Doesn't enjoy 'Ducktective' or any "kids shows", but is obsessed with Harry Potter ("The Last Mabelcorn")
• Ford brings up that he's the older twin all the time, much to Stanley's chagrin (Twitter)
• Stan is unsure what his role is in the "dynamic duo" now that he has a brother who can physically defend himself, but Ford does his best to comfort Stan and tell him that he's needed and the True Hero
• Enjoys the finger puppets Mabel makes him, even though he pretends not to, and participates in all of her plays (Journal 3, "Sock Opera")
• Is secretly sentimental, although he pretends to live a minimalist lifestyle due to his years of dimension-hopping
• The only time Ford's ever cried is the first time he lost Stan at eighteen and the second time he lost Stan at sixty-five ("Weirdmageddon Part 3", Journal 3)
• Despite Ford's bluster and preoccupation with the ladies as a young man, after one too many rejections and inability to socialise easily, he gives up on the quest and turns his mind to pursuing science.  Although he still considers his failures embarrassing, he's truly content with being a brother and grunkle.
• Even though Ford is a "Hero's Brother", his own redemption is heroic in and of itself - he still tried to atone for his mistakes for thirty years, he still made the choice to pull the trigger and complete the sacrifice that he and Stan had agreed on, he still decided to be there for his family to help them heal ("Weirdmageddon Part 3", Journal 3)

Creative Writing: Five Years, Chapter 5

"Star" // "Holy Holy"

Chapter 5 - "Year 3: Just Watch Me Now"

The guys couldn't believe how they were laughed off-stage their first night.  And the next night.  And the next.  They wanted to just call the whole thing off as a bad trip.  Just because James had been the Chosen One didn't mean that they were.  But the ringleader of their small troupe never seemed to waiver from his mission.  If anything, he seemed to become more determined and more encouraged as the mocking continued.  Or at least, from what they could tell.

And so it went on for the next seemingly unending year.  Although James had never faltered to appear each night and at rehearsal, he had begun disappearing off on his own every night, muttering under his breath about Infinities and Destinies - whatever those words meant.  Yet without fail, whenever he came back the next morning he would have stacks and stacks of finished music, ready to rehearse and perform at their next gig that he would somehow miraculously book for them.

But he never talked with them anymore, never went out for a drink.  Something seemed different about James.  He was colder and more aloof than before.  He had always been a bit of a lone wanderer, but now he had the heart to go with it.  Even Myrna-Jean rarely saw him outside of their nightly trysts.  The only thing he seemed to care about was StarDust, and there was an unspoken understanding that he was the infallible leader who demanded unquestioning devotion to his Cause.  His eyes carried a crazed gleamed every time they were mocked off stage, and he never mentioned where he went or how he kept them booked every night without fail.

Despite James' belief that people would understand and follow him unconditionally, it was clear after a few weeks that the crowds merely came to ridicule his act.  They needed some levity after the chaos that was humanity, as the months rolled by, and the world kept getting worse.  They only had just over two years left, and the violence that had been barely held at bay at the beginning of the end was starting to spill through the cracks of society.  News of riots, looting, and food shortages was becoming more and more frequent, and drug overdoses and suicide rates were on the rise.  No one wanted to stay to watch the world burn.

In short, the world was set on fire, and the laughter was embedded in James' broken mind.  It seemed like a waste to keep going with StarDust.  Whatever magic James' music held for them long ago had faded into memory.  Now it was simply a matter of survival, and Tony, Rudi, Bevan, and Sonny weren't sure if they wanted to be a part of James' insane fantasy.  There were other, better ways to spend their last moments alive.

"Alright lads," Tony, the defacto leader while James was "incapacitated", announced, "So we're agreed.  None of us want to perform in James' crazy shows every night."

Sonny nodded, "He's gone mad.  He thinks that if we keep performing then at some point people will just follow us.  But no one's ever 'converted' - hell - no one's even a fan! It's pointless.  I'd much rather abandon this insane nightmare now while there's still some time left."

"Agreed," said Bevan, "I thought this would be the way to change the nation.  But it's not.  Whatever's possessed James can have him.  I want to go really make my mark on the world before it's too late.  Not just get laughed off stage."

Rudi smugly looked around at the others.  The others knew he had never truly approved of James' plans, and now he was vindicated, "So it's settled then.  The only question is, who's gonna tell James?"

Immediately, everyone uncomfortably looked away.  The new James was unpredictable.  The new James only cared about rock 'n' roll (and perhaps fucking, as Myrna-Jean still saw him when no one else did).  No one wanted to tell him that StarDust was effectively dead.

Just as they were shifting awkwardly in their seats, James walked through the door.  For someone gone mad, he still had an impeccable sense of timing.  He was looking down at his notebook, obviously containing the latest drafts of whatever songs he was going to demand they perform next.  But when he entered the room, he instantly looked up to see all four sets of eyes looking at him.

"Well?" he asked irritably.

"Mate, the boys and I were thinking," Tony started, "and, well, I don't know what to say other than -"

"We're done," Sonny cut him off, always blunt and to the point.

"Done? But we haven't started rehearsing yet," James said distractedly, looking at Sonny as if he was the one that had gone mad.

"No James.  With this.  With StarDust.  With this insane fantasy you're insisting that we participate in.  Nothing's changing.  Nothing's been changed.  It's over, mate," Rudi said.

The tension in the air was palpable.  The four of them held their breath, waiting to see what James would do, half expecting a violent rage.

But instead the pale, gaunt-faced James merely blinked and left.  No shouting, tantrums, flights of passion, violence - nothing.  It was as if he knew that this day would come, but it was only a matter of time.  And now it was upon him.

When he left, however, his absence was like a void they couldn't dismiss.  A gaping, obvious hole in their midst that drew attention to itself simply because of its absence.

It was years later, when Tony went back home to fight in the Belfast Riots while Rudi stayed at home to starve, and Bevan was still trying to change the nation along with Sonny, that they realised their terrible mistake at abandoning James.  Although they tried to turn the world, all of them failed to do anything other than whittle away their final hours at a fruitless goal.  The world already had enough change.  Now it was simply the inevitable demise.

--

'Their break-up was inevitable.  Starman had told him that', James remembered.  He had just hoped that it wouldn't be for another few weeks.  He was close.  He could feel it.

But it was no matter either way.  For although he had yet to attract a single follower, James wasn't worried.  He knew that he was right, that he possessed the salvation for mankind, and for the unbelievers he knew they would receive their just punishment later for their narrow minds.  He didn't even bother with trying to convince them of the Truth.

At least he still had Myrna-Jean.  She helped pay the rent and was always down for a good time, but lately she had also seemed rather distant - just like the lads.  Although it was a  It was no matter though.  The disbanding of StarDust could be the opportunity he needed to remake his Image.

'I could make a transformation - I could play the wild mutation as a rock 'n' roll star,' James mused.

He decided to take the original moniker "Lady Stardust" in stride, and start embracing his androgynous persona.  It had already attracted the crowds, why not use their mockery and turn it into a full out spectacle the likes of which they had never seen? It would certainly draw more people to listen to his message.

It was an enticing thought to play the part that he already embraced.  But this time, with full abandon.  He was so wiped out with things as they were - and he certainly needed the money.  His list of deeds involving underhanded bribery, seduction, and blackmail was getting longer by the day as he exchanged favours and promises for the premises to perform, much needed costumes, musical instruments, and everything else needed to put on the nightly show.  That was, when he wasn't slipping off to commune with Starman to learn more about Salvation.

It was only noon, but all of the action of the day, the inner turmoil, the sheer amount of plans that needed to be set into motion - the entire mess meant that James felt justified in going to his local.  He still had a gig booked for the night - how could he possibly show up without a band? And he would be damned if he would give up the space that he had just seduced his way into securing the location.  However, he needed something to take the edge off.

But as he made his way to Aylesbury's, he found that it was closed for the day.  Disheartened, James meandered back towards Beckenham when he passed by a small, dingy, unimpressive hole-in-the-wall joint.  Despite living all his life in the same sleepy town, he had never seen this place before.  He wouldn't even have noticed it or stopped except that it advertised that it was open.  The sign above the establishment simply read K. WEST.

Shrugging, James opened the door only to stop dead in his track.  That Music!

Slowly, it's good and holy; Helping one another, just a righteous brother; Lifetime, give me back my lifetime; I don't want to be an angel, just a little bit evil; Feel the devil in me

His soul was moved.  His spirit uplifted.  That sound! It was Divine.  It was as if his message of salvation had finally found its True Messengers - it was simply inspired.

Eagerly, James sought out where the music was coming from.  Up on stage he saw three young lads.  They seemed to personify the essence of sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll.  The drummer had a scrappy look about him, with light brown hair in a mod haircut that looked severely overgrown.  The bass player, meanwhile, looked long in the face which matched his long black hair and long grey sideburns.  But it was the lead guitarist that had James' attention riveted.  Shaggy blonde hair, dark eyes, strong masculine features, and the best guitar playing he had ever heard.  James was hooked.  Fascinated.  He knew he had to meet him.

The set was over quickly, and James immediately bee-lined straight for the blonde man who had just hopped off the stage.

"James," he said confidently, holding out his hand.

The blonde merely looked indifferently at him, "Don't look like a James.  More like a wanker."

James grinned.  The sharp tongue-in-cheek was exactly the type of rock 'n' roller that he wanted.

"Might be both," he laughed, "What's your name then?"

"Ronno," he gestured over to the other guys still on the stage packing up their gear, nodding towards the bass player "That's Weird.  And Gilly's the twat who doesn't know how to pack up his kit right."

He glared half-heartedly at the drummer who did indeed look like he was struggling to pack up his gear.

James chuckled, "With names like that it sounds like I need a new one."

"Oh yeah? And why would you need a new name?"

"Because I'm going to be your new front man.  Call me...Stardust.  Ziggy Stardust."

Life Highlights: Positive Drabble

To celebrate my nice day, here's a screencap of my new favourite to celebrate

Today I felt more positive than I have in a very very long time.  I had a great time relaxing with Gravity Falls and caring for my friends.  I had a wonderful call with Ike this afternoon and started planning a loose itinerary for when Todd and Annaliese come to visit in May.  I've also been writing more frequently, reflecting on my life, and trying to slowly, but surely, pull myself back together after a literal and metaphorical winter.  I think I have Alex to thank for that, as we had a wonderful late night phone call yesterday, as well as texting Manar and catching up with her.

Talking with and planning things for some of my favourite people, taking more time to try and hone some positive introspection, and having my new mini-obsession in the background has, for some kind reason, made this day just lovely.

Tomorrow I work at HBO again, and hopefully, because it's almost the weekend, the day will be fairly light.  Everyone there is extremely kind and welcoming, which I definitely appreciate.  Then I'll have a three-day-weekend before going back there on Tuesday for the rest of next week.  And next weekend will also mark the beginning of my official move-in to my new space as well (although, unfortunately, it looks like it's going to rain).

Creative Writing: Happy Valentine's Day!

Have a Cheesy Valentine's Day Card (Gravity Falls Themed!)

In honour of Valentine's Day, here are some similes I tried to write about some of my friends that convey how I feel about them, what I love about our relationship, and their essence as a person:

(in no particular order):

You are ...

like that one song you can never get out of your head
like a warm cup of tea after a long day
like a ship safe at harbour
like a well-worn, well-loved old sweater
like sneaking out after dark
like going for a drive with no destination
like a crisp summer morning

Creative Writing: Character Practice

Wish spring was here

Tonight I tried to encapsulate my best friends in a single word. I wanted to see how I would characterise them, if I could, to one-dimensionalise my very three-dimensional loved ones, and I failed miserably.

When I started trying to think of one word, I had a vague impression, but immediately I wanted to write more and clarify some of my first thoughts a bit better, which I think is an excellent reminder for when we all too often want to dismiss people as unchangeable, two-dimensional Others.

So here are a few excerpts of my thoughts, everything I admire and think of, as related to my top five, in no particular order:

Sister. Incredibly, wickedly street smart and book smart. A natural question-asker, curious, and willing to try anything once. A social chameleon, adaptable to any situation and charm the pants off everyone you meet. You take everything to heart and never forget, even if you pretend like you do, incredibly sensitive to the plight of others. Strong and independent. Like your favourite song that brings back good memories and is a classic hit for any time and any place.

Back up plan. Geeky, sarcastic, and stupidly smart with a work ethic that puts me to shame. Ambitious and competitive. Like a well-worn favourite sweater, familiar and always a good choice for going into battle.

Cool as a cucumber. Filled with the Spirit, content and joyous. Ridiculously talented at anything you put your mind to. A great listener and incredibly insightful. Not to mention hilarious. Like a ship in harbour, at peace with the world and ready for any adventure.

Charismatic. Undeniably intelligent and creative. In possession of a ridiculous work ethic and determination. You're able to converse about anything and everything. Intense and focused, but also a huge dork. Like a masterpiece that opens up your world to a new way of living and inspires you to be better.

My favourite artist. Compassionate and earnest. A great listener. Open-minded and open-hearted. You always share the best advice and the best art work. Sensitive and insightful. Crazy smart and crazy kind. Like a warm cup of tea, comforting and just the right remedy to feel better after a long day.

Current Contemplations: New Story Concept (Drabble)

Since getting deeper into the Gravity Falls fandom, (my love for the show is starting to override my 24/7 thoughts of Bowie!), I've lately been thinking about how much I would love to create children's shows once again.

Gravity Falls is absolutely genius, and epitomizes the type of show I would love to make one day.  In particular, the fact that it takes place in Oregon has made me search my memories of growing up in the Beaver State to see if I have any good story inspiration ideas.

Right now I'm still contemplating, but hopefully, in a few months, I will have a good concept.  In the meantime, I will take solace in these awesome characters that have captured my heart (and my attention span).

I love my evil dorito and world's nerdiest old man.

Life Highlights: Not Homeless (Part 2)!

To celebrate, here's some happy fan art of the Pines family that someone incredibly talented on the Internet made!

I am very happy to report that I have officially found a new place to stay for the next six months! It's cheaper than my current affair, and it comes furnished, with an elevator, a/c, and in unit laundry! And it's (literally) down the street from the place I've been staying at, so moving will be a cinch.

I'm so incredibly thankful and blessed that God has granted me a new apartment to call home in Manhattan, and that He has answered my New York quest favourably.  I can't believe that I can officially say that my first year in the City is now guaranteed.  Thanks to all my friends and family on the prayer brigade as well! All of your well wishes and encouragement have sustained me throughout this incredible journey Eastward.

Creative Writing: Haiku 22

Oregon is where
My heart lies and where my thoughts
Turn to every day

Current Contemplations Journal 3 Review & Lessons from Ford

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS MAJOR GRAVITY FALLS AND JOURNAL 3 SPOILERS

So yesterday I bought Journal 3, the canon copy of the book from Gravity Falls, and it didn't disappoint.  I could go on and on about how you should buy this book if you're a fan of the show (or even if you're not) because of how incredibly detailed and well-written it is.  The perfect supplement to the show, it both embellishes the show with more details/insight into character motivations/arcs as well as furthering the show's plot even after the finale.

Perhaps my favourite thing about the book, however, is that it made the character of Ford more relatable, empathetic, and ultimately my favourite one of the bunch.  His parallel to Dipper's character is clear in the show, and in my original run-through of the show, Dipper was my favourite, so it makes sense to me that Ford could become my new #1.  Both of them are incredibly smart, courageous, curious, in posession of a birth abnormality, and a bit nerdy.  The main difference between the two, is that Dipper contains all of Ford's strengths, but battles his weaknesses correctly.  Dipper doesn't fall into the same hubristic trap that Ford does, and learns to values family and friends over being a hero much sooner.

Thus, it doesn't surprise me that Ford's arc is instantly, as an adult, more relatable than Dipper's.  When he and his brother Stan and fail to work together to vanquish evil, but see Dipper and Mabel work together to fight the villain, Bill Cipher, Ford wonders how they're able to put aside their differences.  In response, Stan says, "They're kids, they don't know any better."  Truer words couldn't be spoken, as I think that as adults, we do find it harder to work together because we "know better".  We know what it's like to be betrayed, to be disappointed, to be a failure.  Is it any wonder I relate so strongly to Ford? The slightly nerdy outcast who longs to be great, gain acceptance, recognition, and prove his naysayers wrong?

Perhaps I don't have naysayers per say, but I do understand the rest of his quest.  Reading "his" journal made me realise that as altruistic as I would like to think my move to New York was, I can't deny the more selfish part of me.  The part which wanted to move to accomplish - something.  To prove to the world, but mostly to myself, that I wasn't a failure.  To succeed here - somehow - before going back to the West Coast to show off my great adventure, my great deeds, my great victories.  To have a reason for my family to be proud of me that I could point to.

I'm not sure what to do with this insight that Journal 3 helped me understand other than to acknowledge it and move forward.  I recognize that part of my hope in moving was to accomplish Greatness and win Glory.  After I read The Sailor Who Fell from Grace With the Sea, I wrote this snippet in my journal:

My soul feels restless.  Like a wandering spirit is caught in my breast, always fighting, always seeking for a place to call home.  My inability to find contentment is worrisome.  I hope one day to be granted a reprieve from my suffering.  Loneliness is good for character building, but I am unsure if I will be chosen to have glory thrust upon me.

But after reading Ford's words, I hope that I remember to rely on a community that has supported me every step of the way (even - especially - when I fail to acknowledge them).  I hope that I remember not to waste the second chances I will inevitably need.  I hope to remember that humility, trust, and love is where true glory is found.  

Below are excerpts from the book that wonderfully illustrate Ford's most relatable journey:

I could relate to his ambition.  I discussed my dreams of proving my theory.  I could finally leave Gravity Falls, return home to the East Coast, & publish my findings to the world.  I'd be the toast of the scientific community, rubbing elbows with presidents and prizewinners, debating politics with Reagan, and discussing turtleneck fashion tips with Carl Sagan.  Imagine the look on the dean of West Coast Tech's face when he saw that the student he refused was now the next Einstein! Imagine how proud my family and hometown would be: the "Freak" would return a hero!

--

Our family is in danger, and I have to do something about it.  I have been hesitant, however, to talk to the rest of the Pines about Bill (even Dipper, who I've grown to trust).  I'd like to believe that this is out of a desire to protect them, but if I'm honest with myself, it's because I'm ashamed ...

What would they think of me if they knew that it was my folly, my hubris, that conjured Bill in the first place? That he tricked me into creating the portal, and that the rift is a direct, physical reminder of the terrible deal I made so many years ago? Would Dipper still look up to me - or would he just consider me a fool?

No, I need not tell them everything.  Just enough for now.

--

Looking back on my lifetime of catastrophic mistakes, I realize one great pattern in all my follies.  I thought being a great man meant being alone.  Apart from the crowd.  I bristled at the idea of sharing my accomplishments with anyone.  I shunned my brother for one dumb mistake, and I shunned Fiddleford for having the sense to try and stop me from dooming the world. 

Even when I was given a second chance, I still held others as a distance.  If I had been able to widen my circle of trust ... if I had believed in the Zodiac's prophecy sooner ... we might have gathered everyone together and banished Bil before he was able to strike.  I just couldn't get over the idea of myself as the lone hero ... and it was Stanley who paid the price.

"Trust No One." What an absurd and paranoid idea.  Trust shouldn't be given unconditionally, but it should be given a chance to be earned.  There is strength in having the humility to work with and sacrifice for others - a strength I now realize was in my brother all along.

Stanley Pines was the man who saved the world, not me.  I spent so long thinking he was a selfish jerk, and he turned out to be the most selfless man I've ever met in any dimension.  If I'm totally honest, I must admit that he's a hero and I'm ... a hero's brother.  And I'm okay with that.

--

It is a beautiful summer day.  Everyone is packing for their respective futures, but I have found my mind drifting to how lovely the cloudless sky looks beneath the August sun.  I've spent too long with my head in a book; it's time to look at the world - and people - around me once more.

--

And that brings us to you, dear reader.  If you are holding this book in your hands, you hold something more than a record of the curious happenings of a town called Gravity Falls.  You hold a record of one man's folly and the kindness of a family that saved him from himself.  It's never too late to learn that growing old doesn't have to mean growing up.

Stay curious, stay weird, stay kind, and don't let anyone ever tell you you aren't smart or brave or worthy enough.

David Bowie: "Conversation Piece" Highlight

Okay okay, I know it's day 2 of postponing my fic, but this is an important highlight! It's been over two years since my in-depth study on (read: obsession with) David Bowie began, but I'm still constantly surprised at how, just when I'm unable to articulate something that I'm feeling, I find a perfect song by him that says it already.

Case in point, for the past twelve weeks, I have been unable to properly understand or convey what I've been feeling.  I've been up and down and all around on the emotional/mental/spiritual health spectrum.  I've felt weirdly lonely, frustrated, productive, apathetic, nostalgic, hopeful, and depressed both in turns and in multiple conflicting feelings all in one go.  I wasn't even sure how to express what I was feeling to myself.

But then last night I re-listened to Bowie's song "Conversation Piece".  Now, I can officially say not only have I gained a new appreciation for the work, but it's been officially elevated to my theme song for my time living in New York City.

LYRICS:
I took this walk to ease my mind
To find out what's gnawing at me
Wouldn't think to look at me
That I've spent a lot of time in education
It all seems so long ago 

I'm a thinker, not a talker
I've no-one to talk to, anyway
I can't see the road
For the rain in my eyes 

I live above the grocer's store
Owned by an Austrian
He often calls me down to eat
And he jokes about his broken English
Tries to be a friend to me 

But for all my years of reading conversation
I stand without a word to say
I can't see the bridge
For the rain in my eyes 

And the world is full of life
Full of folk who don't know me
And they walk in twos or threes or more
While the lamp that shines above the grocer's store
Investigates my face so rudely 

And my essays lying scattered on the floor
Fulfill their needs just by being there
And my hands shake, my head hurts, my voice sticks inside my throat
I'm invisible and dumb, and no-one will recall me
And I can't see the water
For the tears in my ey-y-yes

The song was officially released on the B-side of the 1970 single "The Prettiest Star", although it has several iterations floating around.  There's an early demo of an unknown date with an intro identical to "Starman", a second demo from April 1969, a final studio cut which was recorded during the David Bowie (1969) album sessions, a revived version with a gorgeous string arrangement and sung in a different octave was recorded during the abandoned Toy (2000) album sessions, and of course the remastered version on the Five Years (2015) compilation album. (Pegg) (O'Leary) (David Bowie News)

According to Kenneth Pitt (Bowie's manager in the late 1960s), he thought 'Conversation Piece' was "one of David's most underrated and little-known compositions". (Pegg)  And Mike Garson, Bowie's long-time piano player, characterised the piece as breathtaking, saying, "'Conversation Piece' is one of the most beautiful pieces David ever wrote. He recorded it in the sixties but we recorded it again in 2000. This song is so gorgeous. It's in my top 10 of David's songs."  Once again Bowie's genius is showcased in these reviews because for such high praise, the song actually has a fairly simple musical structure, which O'Leary characterises as:

...three meandering verses, three tight eight-bar choruses (half lyric, half wordless).  For the final verse, Bowie uses a standard trick and changes key, bumping all the chords up one step (so while the third line of the verse - for example, "he often calls me down to eat" - has been C/G, it's now D/G ("and they walk in twos and threes or more"), and so forth).  To further the sense that the singer is breaking down, the last verse extends into a faster-paced section with shorter sung phrases until collapsing into the final chorus. (O'Leary)

Additional inspirations are noted by Pegg when he writes, "...'Conversation Piece' did not spring fully-formed from David's brow: it echoes the bruised emotional landscape of Simon and Garfunkel's 'I Am A Rock', and it owes a clear debt to a track on Biff Rose's 1968 album The Thorn In Mrs Rose's Side, in which Rose takes a similarly self-absorbed walk into town - the song is called 'What's Gnawing At Me', a line poached by Bowie's lyric". (Pegg)

Now don't get me wrong, I've always loved this piece - it's simple, lovely, and contains the right amount of melancholy, clever imagery, and solipsism that characterises 1960s!Bowie.  But last night was the first time I finally understood what Bowie was trying to say, rather than admiring some nice wordplay like, "But for all my years of reading conversation/I stand without a word to say".  In The Complete David Bowie (2016), Pegg describes the piece as:

[an] overlooked and melancholy 1969 number [which] features a lovely melody and an emotive lyric addressing familiar Bowie topics of alienation and social exclusion.  The self-portrait of a misunderstood and unappreciated young writer struggling to achieve something worthwhile from his London bedsit ("I'm invisible and dumb, and no-one will recall me") acutely matches the image, suggested by many contemporary accounts, of David himself on the eve of his first success. 

As someone who also feels like a misunderstood and unappreciated young artist struggling to achieve something "worthwhile", with multiple job applications rejected, a sense of crippling loneliness, and feeling nowhere close to succeeding in my industry or post-college life, the song seemed to speak to my soul.

But I think O'Leary describes best why this song holds such powerful resonance for me, when he writes his personal reflection on the themes of the piece:

Most of all, [the song] captures well the curse of urban anonymity—its title is a cruel joke, the “conversation” only going on in the singer’s head. Once during a hard spell while living in NYC I spent a weekend almost entirely out of doors, going from shop to cafe to library, and realized at some point during it that I had talked to absolutely no one, except maybe to mutter thanks to a ticket-taker or cashier. The sense of moving among a great mass of people and feeling utterly invisible and isolated from them is almost addicting at first, and then it can just sink your soul. (O'Leary)

And perhaps it's also rather reassuring to think that these words, although written fifty years ago, seem to transcend time as they are still able to offer me a sense of camaraderie with Bowie since he was my age when he composed them.  To know I share the same frustration, melancholy, loneliness, (and certain amount of solipsism), as Bowie did when he was my age, makes me feel a little less frustrated, a little less lonely, and a little more hopeful.

Wardrobe of Moral Imagination: Bill Cipher Appreciation Addition

"Remember, reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy gold, bye!"

So I was going to write the next chapter of "Five Years", but the day got away from me.  So instead, please accept this appreciation post for Bill Cipher, the best tv villain in ages.

Firstly, look at how much emotion the animators are able to show in a character that is actually just a triangle with an eye, some legs, a top hat, and a bow tie:

Secondly, let's also appreciate the fact that they were able to make what is essentially an evil dorito so terrifying and a legitimate villain with his plans to take over this dimension with Weirdmageddon (complete with a Fear-amid and insanity bubbles that make anyone they touch go mad) - the voice acting of creator Alex Hirsch is incredible:

Finally, the nuanced character of Bill is incredible.  Usually when a blockbuster movie or some sort portrays a villain that's a psychopath, their character is rather 2-d (pun intended).  Their motives are simply written off as insanity and it's over and done with - every brutal action is written off and there's no depth of motive.  Bill's insanity, however, is a type that only well-developed, structured characters contain.  Although he is insane and loves chaos for the sake of chaos, his motives for taking over this dimension are compelling because he always seems to be one step ahead of every other character, possessing infinite knowledge and impressive manipulation skills.  The intricate plots and tantalisingly vague backstory merely embellish the weird charisma that he exudes.  (Bill alludes to the fact that he "liberated" his dimension a long time ago - most likely by burning the entire plane of existence to the ground - and that it was filled with "flat minds in a flat world").  This type of cold, calculated chaos makes his rage when his plans seem to fail all the more terrifying and meaningful.  Moreover, this type of characterisation is in line with other villains like him (Jim Moriarty from BBC's Sherlock and Heath Ledger's Joker from The Dark Knight).  And it's unsurprising that I love Bill, as the Joker and Moriarty are my other top two film/tv villains.

So all hail Bill Cipher! (After my Ziggy fanfic, maybe I'll even try to write one with Bill as the star! Or at the very least do a major appreciation post with more writing).

Creative Writing: Five Years, Chapter 4

"It Ain't Easy" // "Lady Stardust"

Chapter 4 - "Year Three: Strange Things Circulating Round"

James wasn't sure where he had been or how long he had stayed there.  All he knew what that he had come back with a message for humanity.  A Message of Salvation for mankind.  As soon as he came back to himself, he had raced back to Haddon Hall.  He had to inform the others of what happened.  Tonight had marked the fact that his wait was finally over.

"So there I was, out 'round Beckenham, when something strange happened.  The portable went dead.  And then it came back to life - it sounded like some cat was laying down some crazy rock 'n' roll - it was like some sort of hazy cosmic jive - when it cut back out again.  I thought my radio was busted, and wanted to try and see what was going on, but it was too dark.  Just as I thought 'I wish I had some light to check it out', a bright star lit up the sky.  But as soon as it came, it vanished.  Then the most gorgeous sounding music started playing again and the light turned back on. This time brighter than the sun.  It almost blinded me.  After I saw the light, I didn't know where I was or how long I had been there.  All I knew was that I existed.  And that was all I knew until I heard - it," he told them, all gathered around on the living room floor, listening to his remarkable tale.

"There was a Voice," James continued, unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed from his nightly encounter, "He called himself 'Starman', and that he came from Star Dust.  He said he would like to come meet us, but he thinks he will blow our minds if he ever has direct contact with humanity right now because he is beyond our understanding.  So he's forced to wait for us in the sky -"

"So then how come you got to meet him?" Rudi sceptically interrupted him.

"Because I was Chosen," James said proudly, not missing a beat, (although he was slightly annoyed at the interruption), "I had been marked as the Messenger to earth to deliver his Word.  Anyway, he told me that even though we might not be ready Now to meet him, we might be able to in the future - the Future! I told him that the future was meaningless to us - that we didn't have a long time to prepare if what he said was true, but he simply warned me that we shouldn't blow our chance - however slight the possibility - to be able to meet him because if we were able to, it would be worth our while.

"His final words to me were to make sure I let the children lose it, let the children use it, and let them all boogie until the end of the world.  Then his far out song started playing again - over and over - until I woke up back on the hill.  At first, I didn't get it.  My mind too small to understand revelations so vast. But then all of a sudden - I knew."

"James, stop with the dramatics," Tony groused, "What did you know?"

"That he had come to save us! That he is our hope to leave our dying world! If we are able to sparkle - impress him - dazzle him - then he may finally deem us ready to meet him and take us all away from here! And it's up to me - to us - to tell the world about him through music.  And I know what I need to do to spread the Word.  I've been mucking about writing, playing, thinking, all these years in order to prepare for this moment - like he said, 'I'll be a rock 'n' rollin' bitch for you' - and now it's time.  It's my Destiny to transform - to ascend - as a rockstar - nay, a rock god - in order for the people of earth to hear that their salvation has finally come," James beamed at them all.  He was euphoric, ecstatic - he was ready to stop waiting and start acting, "All I need is a band.  And that's where you guys come in."

The group looked at him dubiously and rapturously in equal measure.  Bevan clearly thought James had finally come around to his side about wanting to change the world, and was eager to capitalize on his enthusiasm even if he thought James had gone a bit mad.  And Sonny was enamoured, hypnotized by James' passionate speech (he had always been open to the idea of the supernatural).  But Rudi and Tony looked suspicious of his tale.  Myrna-Jean was also quiet.

"I don't know, James," Rudi started, "Are you sure you didn't just have a bad trip or some-"

"No!" James vehemently insisted, "I know what I saw and I know what my Destiny is.  I can prove it too."

He grabbed his twelve string and began playing for them.  Instantly, all signs of doubt melted away.  Their jaws dropped.  The notes! - the melodies! - the lyrics! - James had been a talented writer and musician in his own right, but it was never anything like this.  There could be no other explanation for how he got like this overnight.  And the music he was playing - by God! - it was unlike anything they had ever heard - ever experienced.  It was radical, subliminal, transcendental - they had no words for it.  They were spellbound.  A type of fervent devotion washed over them.  They had been converted.

After a few minutes, James stopped playing and looked around, "Alright lads, let's begin."

They worked all night, and for the next year, non-stop - getting costumes, writing songs, making setlists, rehearsing, booking gigs - the to-do list went on and on for what they had to do.  Myrna-Jean even helped out by becoming their manager in between working on her own opening act as the Hoochie Coochie Woman for their new band: StarDust.

The group had been named in an obvious tribute to the Starman.  James had insisted upon it so that the alien would know where to look for his Messenger, and to monitor their progress in spreading the Word.  As a result the opening number would be "Moonage Daydream", as James wanted to make sure to get the pure, unadulterated message out to the masses first and foremost, but trying to get anyone to agree to let them play was proving challenging.

None of their usual gigs would let them play.  They didn't much care for the strange things circulating round the town about the new band.  Rumours about alien conspiracies that had made the poor lads go mad, deals with the devil in exchange for untold talent, and wild tales of their unnatural sexual proclivities that made every upstanding pub wary of hosting them.  But James refused all of the more questionable joints that would've allowed them.  He wanted to be taken seriously, and he knew that starting in one of the seedy clubs would never give them the credibility he wanted.

As a result, he ended up going to the pub on the far side of town, Aylesbury, the night before he wanted to debut in order to talk with the proprietor one-on-one.  It was the only place that hadn't rejected him outright before he could even ask.  He knew it would be his last and only chance to perform at a choice venue, and he was determined to do whatever it took to make a deal.  After all, the rumours weren't entirely wrong, and James knew it.

'It ain't easy to get to Heaven when you're going down,' he thought, as he walked towards Aylesbury, thinking back on how he bargained and blackmailed and coerced and seduced his way to get everything he needed to create StarDust, 'Hopefully, God may look the other way today.'

As he entered the dingy, but well-kept, pub, he immediately went straight for Henry, a middle-aged man, slightly balding, but still attractive in that "B-Movie actor" sort of way, who was the owner of the joint.  He was standing in the back, just about ready to close-up for the day.  James knew exactly what kind of man he was. His man's man exterior didn't hide the fact that he was also a man's man on the interior, and James was determined to use it to his advantage.

"Henry! My good sir!" James shouted, "Hear me out.  I've got a problem - more like a proposition actually."

"Well all the people have got their problems.  That ain't nothing new.  But with the help of the Good Lord we can all pull on through.  Now what can I do for you?" Henry asked.  He had heard about James' quest for a venue, but was intrigued to see what would be offered in exchange for a place to play - if the rumours were true. He had hoped for an opportunity like this to come one day.

"Mate, I know that you know that I'm in need of a proper venue for my new band to debut.  And I believe that Aylesbury is just the type of quality establishment I'm looking for to have that honour," James said.

"Yes yes, I've heard about your search," Henry acknowledged with a slight nod, "I also don't know what would be in it for me.  After all, your - questionable - reputation is getting out of hand James, and I don't know if Aylesbury is ready for that kind of ... show."

James looked at his shrewd, gleaming eyes.  He knew that Henry was putting up a front.  The man couldn't care less about Aylesbury's reputation.  He just wanted to assess how far James would go, and James had counted on this fact.

"Henry, my good man, don't be unkind.  I promise that I will make you an offer you can't refuse," James simply said, letting the seduction roll off his tongue easily, "Come, let's talk in your office."

By the end of the night, Aylesbury's front door was proudly plastered from top to bottom in posters that announced the premiere of StarDust for 65p a ticket.

--

It was a cold, damp evening, and it was rapidly becoming night.  Valentine hiked his collar up higher around his face in a futile attempt to protect himself from the freezing wind.  The last year had been unkind to him, but even before the end had been announced, it wasn't like world was compassionate to him in the first place.  He had drifted from church to church, seeking answers to save his soul (and maybe even fulfill his deepest heart's desire for companionship), but every time he left he felt more alone and lost than ever.  He never felt further from the divinity and grace the priests had preached about. The sermon's words would feel great when he was in the pews, as if he could almost ascend to their heavenly heights, but as soon as he left the building, the gnawing, empty feeling consumed him once more, dragging him down, down, down to the depths all over again.

'Was it a sin,' Valentine thought, 'Just to want to be loved?'

With these dark and troubling thoughts stewing in his mind, the weather started to reflect his sense of unrest.  Rain began to pour down and the wind made his face numb.  Eagerly, he sought shelter by ducking into a nearby pub.  He could use a drink, and from the facade of the pub, it wasn't an unsavoury looking prospect.  Despite being scorned by society and having no home or income or companion to speak of, Valentine liked to think he had standards.  One of them being that he always looked the part of a respectable patron who only frequented decent sorts of establishments, and he was rather proud of this fact in his own small way.

Upon entering, Valentine immediately noted the slightly gloomy atmosphere, but it was clean and serviceable.  It even looked like he was in for some entertainment tonight, as a group of young men were setting up stage equipment.  The pub itself was partially filled with blokes that mainly looked like regulars, and a couple of girls that looked like they weren't, littered about here and there.  In short, nothing too out of the ordinary.

Valentine ordered his drink and sat down in a quiet corner to observe the whole affair, curious to see what kind of act was going to be performed.  He knew it would be some sort of live music, and hoped he would get to hear a little jazz.  It had been ages since he heard some performed.  Smiling, he settled in for the night.  But when the lights dimmed and the performance began, hopes for jazz music was the farthest thing from Valentine's mind.

Emerging from the darkness like an ethereal being, a pale young man suddenly jumped up onto the forefront of the stage with animal-like grace.  He had long dark hair and wore heavy make-up on his face which, with his slim frame, delicate waist and protruding hips, made him seem rather effeminate.  In fact, he could've been easily mistaken for a woman were it not for the fact that his tight, bright blue jeans emphasized his bulging crotch in a way that no woman could possibly possess.  He really was out of sight.

In fact, he was intriguing.  He was mesmerizing.  He was paradise.  He was everything Valentine had ever wanted but had never known.  Then, as if that wasn't enough, he opened his mouth.  He proclaimed the name to be Stardust, and he began to launch into songs of darkness and disgrace, of dismay at being alone in the world, of his longing to find someone who understood his message.

If Valentine thought he was enchanted before, when Stardust began to sing his heart's deepest yearnings, he knew he would never love another.  This fair creature would forever possess his heart and his undying devotion.  He smiled sadly at the thought, realising that this was one love he could never obey, but wishing he could anyways.  Sighing, he wondered what the man's true name was.  'Although, he thought, 'Stardust somehow seems to fit him perfectly'.

As the night went on, Valentine began to notice that femme fatales emerged from shadows to also stare at his wondrous love, and boys stood upon their chairs to try and get a good glimpse of him.  But instead of adoring him like they should, Valentine noticed that they simply stared at the makeup on his face, laughing at his performance and ridiculing his music.  They were cat-calling and mocking him with the name "Lady Stardust" over and over again.

Valentine's heart began to ache for the unknown young man that had captivated his soul.  He wanted to protect him, to shield the man called Stardust from the cruel world in a way that no one offered to do for himself.  But to his amazement, Stardust simply ignored the crowd.  He kept on singing all night long, as if everything was all right and his band would never be touched by the dirty grasp of mortality.  His song seemed to go on forever.

And as he listened to the beautiful melodies woven by StarDust, Valentine knew that his love too would end up going on for eternity.